Set title

by O’Donnell, Laurel

  He rose as she entered the library. Ignoring his growing affection for her was simple enough when he wasn’t with her but a far more difficult task when he was. One glance told him she had something on her mind. Somehow he didn’t think it was him.

  “Good day.” Her expression was friendly enough, but her normally charming smile was all business.

  He scowled, realizing he didn’t care for it.

  “I do hope I’m not interrupting.” She held out a piece of paper as though it excused her presence like a boy with a hall pass at boarding school. “Father asked me to deliver some information to you. He felt it too important to delay until your next visit.”

  “Oh?” He watched her, attempting to read between her words.

  That damned polite smile firmly in place, she handed him the message. “I have additional details to share after you’ve read it.”

  Oliver opened the paper, skimming the words, only to slow and read them more carefully. His sense of knowing surged. “What more can you tell me?”

  He listened closely as Julia told of the reanimation of the rats, his mind spinning as he realized her father might have stumbled upon how Smithby faked Rutter’s death. He turned over the information in his mind, wondering how he might use it.

  “Is this helpful?” she asked.

  “It is incredibly helpful. Your father was right.”

  Those blue eyes blinked up at him, threatening to distract him.

  “I told your father that Smithby managed to murder one of his thieves while the man was still in his cell.” Her gaze narrowed as he debated how much more to tell her. “He did it in a way that was certain to rouse the superstitions of the other prisoners and even the guards. Then Hawke and I saw the murdered man, alive, a few days later at one of Smithby’s warehouses.”

  Her eyes widened with shock. “Oh heavens. That’s terrible. Do you think he used that herb to accomplish such a feat?”

  “It’s possible. I don’t know enough of herbs to say but how many can there be that have such an effect?”

  Julia drew nearer to study her father’s message, which Oliver still held. “I’ve never heard of it either. Mr. Skyrme, the apothecary, might be of assistance.”

  “Excellent idea. I will send a message to Hawke before we make any inquiries.” He moved to his desk and quickly penned a missive requesting Hawke to call on him when possible.

  “Terribly sorry, my lord,” Tubbs said from the door.

  Aware it would take a serious issue to cause Tubbs to interrupt, Oliver asked, “What is it?”

  “A young lad is at the back door requesting to speak with you.”

  “Victor?” Oliver set down his pen, the pit of his stomach clenching.

  “Yes. Unfortunately, he appears to be injured,” Tubbs added.

  Oliver glanced at Julia. “Will you wait for my return?”

  “I’ll come with you. Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

  Oliver nodded, pleased she wasn’t leaving. He handed the message to Tubbs. “Please see that’s delivered as soon as possible. Did Victor say what happened?”

  “He insists on speaking with you,” Tubbs advised as he moved toward the rear of the house and down the stairs.

  Oliver strode into the kitchen, noting several servants gathered at the back door. Victor stood near the door with the cook at his side who was attempting to convince him to release whatever he held in his arms. The servants stepped back as he neared.

  “Victor?”

  The lad looked up, eyes wide, his pale, dirty face marked by streaks of tears. “My lord.”

  “What happened?”

  “I—I stole the book.” He offered Oliver the cloth-wrapped bundle in his arms.

  “What book?” Oliver took the package, his sense of foreboding stronger than ever.

  “The one Smithby claims gives him power. The secret one.”

  Oliver stilled as he stared at Victor, unable to believe what the lad had done. Oliver hadn’t even told him about The Book of Secrets, yet Victor had stolen it. As he took it out of the boy’s trembling hands, he could hardly believe he held the very book he’d spent weeks searching for. Yet the pleasure he’d anticipated was absent. How could he be pleased when Victor had risked so much to gain it?

  The lad stumbled only to be caught by Tubbs.

  “The book doesn’t seem as important now, does it?” Julia murmured. “Victor?” She moved forward and with a gentle hand removed his cap and brushed the hair from his forehead. “Where are you hurt?”

  Victor looked down and touched the front of his filthy jacket. “Ah, one of the men had a knife, but I think he only nicked me.”

  “Come and sit at the table. Cook surely has a biscuit for you.” Her gentle words had everyone moving to do her bidding. As Victor sat in a chair, she continued, “Why don’t we remove this and have a look.”

  Julia unbuttoned the jacket but her hands suddenly stilled. Oliver realized her fingers were holding several cuts in the fabric. She glanced back at him as though to make certain he saw as well.

  His stomach tightened, and he gave a brief nod. Dark anger loomed at the edges of his mind, but he pressed it back. There was no one here on which to unleash the anger. The time would come soon enough to release his rage on the people who truly deserved it. Instead, he focused on Victor.

  Julia eased off the jacket with Tubbs’ assistance, revealing dark red stains on the front of Victor’s shirt. Oliver had to clench his jaw to keep his emotions in check.

  “The man—he nearly caught me,” Victor said, his voice trembling. “I didn’t know he...” The boy blinked as he stared down at the large red mark.

  Oliver reached out to place a hand on Victor’s shoulder. Victor’s face turned even paler as his eyes rolled back.

  “Let’s lay him down.” Oliver handed the still-wrapped bundle to a maid so he could assist. He and Tubbs laid the boy on the floor and opened the boy’s shirt.

  Julia’s quiet gasp filled the silence of the room.

  Three deep stab wounds marked the boy’s white stomach. It was difficult to tell how severe they were due to the blood. Oliver caught Tubbs’ gaze, seeing the same worry he felt reflected in his footman’s gaze. “We’ll need a doctor.”

  Tubbs nodded and gestured for one of the footmen to go.

  Victor moaned. His stomach quivered as he lifted his head to look at his injuries. “Oh, no.”

  “Lay back, Victor.” Julia knelt beside him and ran her fingers along his forehead. The boy did as she asked and rested his head on the floor. “Viscount Frost will aid you. Did you know he was in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy?”

  Victor glanced at him. “Is that true?”

  Oliver nodded as a maid stepped forward with a damp cloth and a pan of water to clean the wounds. Aware Julia was attempting to distract the boy from his injuries, he added, “Tending the injured is part of serving.” He continued speaking, doing his best to keep the boy’s attention. Having Julia there to help was a blessing beyond what he could’ve hoped for. He hadn’t realized how much it would mean to have her support in a situation such as this.

  But the frowns and moans coming from Victor despite the maid’s careful touch attested to his pain. At Oliver’s direction, she bound his stomach.

  “Take him to a room upstairs. The doctor should be here soon,” Oliver ordered.

  Tubbs carried the protesting lad away, reassuring him that all would be well.

  “He’s lucky it’s not worse, I suppose.” Oliver ran his hand through his hair. He turned to stare at the wrapped bundle on the table. “I can’t believe he managed to steal that.”

  “He put himself in terrible danger,” Julia said as they made their way back to the library with Oliver carrying the book.

  “I told him to keep his distance. He was nearly caught last time.” Oliver set the book on his desk and unwrapped it with care. “While I detested the idea of Smithby having this text when it should be in the possession of someone who values it, I never inten
ded for Victor to come to harm.”

  “It sounds as if Smithby values it but for all the wrong reasons,” Julia added.

  The leather cover was embossed, the elegant letters embedded into the aged leather.

  “It’s a work of art.” Julia reached out a tentative finger to touch the title.

  “Amazing.” Oliver opened the first few pages. Each chapter had an ornately drawn first letter. The lettering was perfect as though it had been printed on a press rather than with pen and ink.

  “Father would love to see this.”

  “Excuse me, my lord,” a footman said at the door. “The young lad is asking for you. He refuses to rest until he has a chance to tell you more.”

  “I’m anxious to hear the details.” He turned to Julia. “Will you excuse me while I see to him?”

  “Of course. I should return home. I don’t want to leave Father for long. He’ll be anxious to hear what you thought of his discovery.” She walked with him to the foyer. “Do keep us posted on the lad’s condition, won’t you?”

  “Yes.” Oliver noted the footman had returned upstairs, leaving him and Julia alone in the foyer. Unable to resist, he reached out to draw her closer, studying her guarded expression. “Thank you for helping with Victor.”

  “I’ll be anxious to hear what the doctor says. I hope it’s not too serious.”

  Though she stepped into his embrace, he could feel the distance between them. If only he knew what she might be thinking. “We have much to discuss, you and I.”

  She looked up into his eyes, her smile annoying the hell out of him. “Oh?”

  He decided to take her supposed ignorance of the valley between them as a challenge. Drawing her even closer, he took her mouth with his, putting all his desire into it, allowing his tongue to swoop into her mouth and demanding she respond.

  After a moment’s pause, she not only responded, but raised the stakes higher. He couldn’t doubt her passion.

  Christ but he wanted her so badly he ached. It wasn’t merely a physical ache, but an emotional longing for which he wasn’t prepared. The sweet taste of her, her scent, her softness against him, all made him want her even more. What was he to do?

  At the very least, he wanted Julia to have something else other than that damned smile on her lips. He wanted—

  He jerked back even as the thought formed in his mind. Yet he seemed incapable of erasing it once it took hold. He wanted her at his side always. What he felt was not simply desire or infatuation. It was love.

  Why did the look in her eyes make him doubt that she would welcome an offer of marriage?

  “I know Victor is waiting for you.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “We can speak later. After you’re certain he’s recovering.”

  He couldn’t help but think that, if left to her, the time when they could speak might never come. That if it did, she would only find another reason to postpone it.

  “Yes, I should see to him.” Yet Oliver stood unmoving, not wanting to let her go. He studied her more closely, trying to determine what was going on in her mind. It wasn’t as though she didn’t care for him. He knew she did. And he knew she desired him. Their kiss had made that clear. Then what could it be?

  “I look forward to hearing from you soon.” Julia hugged him then pulled away.

  “Yes, soon.” He said it firmly, stating a vow rather than a hope. Because no matter what doubt circled her mind, there was one thing he knew—she was his. Nothing could change that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “He [the prison governor] has a firm belief that the best way of ‘breaking’ a bad boy, is to appeal to his bygone affection for his mother.”

  ~The Seven Curses of London

  Julia’s heart felt as though it might beat out of her chest as she neared Oliver’s front door. The desire to run back into his arms was nearly more than she could bear. She’d finally met a man who had her questioning everything—what she believed, what she thought possible, what she wanted...

  How sad was it that she lacked the courage to reach out and take what he offered?

  Yet the voice of doubt in the back of her mind refused to be silenced. It reminded her that he hadn’t suggested anything—not a future, not a commitment, and certainly not the three words that might change everything.

  I love you.

  They’d been on the tip of her tongue, threatening to burst forth given the slightest opportunity. But her disbelief held them back as did the memory of her father saying them countless times to her mother while her mother gave nothing in return except a placating smile.

  She couldn’t bear it if Oliver treated her that way. Mere physical affection wouldn’t fill her. She wanted the sort of promises that couldn’t possibly be kept—a bone-deep, to-the-bottom-of-my-heart sort of love. The kind of love that didn’t fade with time but grew deeper. The kind that rarely existed except within the pages of novels.

  Better to walk away with her heart whole than to risk years of heartache. She’d watched her father live—or rather, exist—with that. She couldn’t bear it.

  She heard footsteps on the stairs and couldn’t resist turning to watch him disappear out of sight, leaving her alone in the foyer. The servants must’ve been busy seeing to the injured visitor or discussing his arrival in the kitchen.

  The knowledge that she couldn’t return here was emblazoned on her mind. It was far too dangerous to her heart. Each time she saw Oliver, her defenses crumbled away a little more. Each time he took her into his arms was another hole in her protective wall. Before long, she’d be begging him to stay with her, willing to do or become whatever he wanted just so he’d care for her.

  No. She couldn’t lose herself like that. While she might not be completely happy at the moment, at least she functioned and found pleasure in each day. That, along with caring for her father, had to be enough. When Oliver called on them, she’d have to tell him she couldn’t see him anymore.

  And it needed to be soon.

  She had no doubt she’d shatter and break into a million pieces when Oliver’s attentions turned elsewhere. And they would. There was no possible way she could hold his interest for more than a fortnight, let alone a lifetime. She blinked quickly to chase away her tears.

  She opened the door only to realize this would be her last chance to grant her father his wish to see The Book of Secrets. The image of it sitting on the corner of Oliver’s desk flooded her mind.

  With a glance at the empty stairs, she closed the door and hurried back across the foyer, returning to the library, every sense poised for a sign of Oliver’s return.

  But he didn’t come.

  She reached his desk and opened the book, imagining it in the hands of a medieval monk. What had he thought as he’d copied the words so carefully? Had he understood any of the secrets it contained? Had he experimented with any of the ideas within these pages? She could imagine her father’s joy if he had the chance to peruse its ancient words, even if only for a short time. It might be the boost that ensured or perhaps even quickened his recovery.

  Surely Oliver wouldn’t mind if she borrowed it for a few hours. She’d leave him a note to tell him she had it, and that she’d send it back after she’d shown it to her father. Oliver would be busy with Victor and the doctor for most of the afternoon. He wouldn’t mind, would he?

  Finding paper and pen, she jotted a note telling Oliver she was borrowing the book and would return it later that day. Then, using great care, she wrapped the book with the cloth in which Victor had brought it and picked it up, still hesitating. No harm could come from her borrowing it.

  With resolve, she carried the book across the library, taking one last look around the wonderful room that she’d never see again, her heart hurting more than she could bear.

  Walking away was the right thing to do. For both of them. It would save pain and heartache. Yet despite all her logical arguments, she couldn’t quite convince herself. Heaving a sigh, she looked down once more at the wrapped book.
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  She tried to envision the look on her father’s face when he saw it; his expression would be one of absolute delight.

  But moss-green eyes full of secrets got in the way.

  Her breath quickening once more, she entered the foyer, relieved to find it empty. Still, she paused, her feet feeling as though they were made of lead, keeping her from moving forward, but preventing her from going back.

  Why did guilt weigh her down? She’d left a note, explaining that she had the book. If only she’d thought to ask Oliver before he’d gone upstairs.

  She crossed the foyer, waiting for someone to insist she stop and return it. Was this what a professional thief felt like? A terrible mix of spiraling nerves and daring? The short book she’d read had made it sound much more adventurous.

  This was ridiculous. She was only borrowing it for a few hours. Nothing more. Oliver would be so busy he might not even realize it was missing unless he saw her note.

  Then why did she feel so worried?

  She opened the door and stepped outside, closing it quietly behind her. Her carriage was just down the street but seemed a long distance away. She kept her gaze trained on it, glad she’d left her maid at home today. Sally would’ve wondered at Julia’s odd behavior. She told herself there was no need to be concerned. The book would be back in Oliver’s hands in a few short hours.

  As she hurried down the walk, a movement from the bushes had her turning in surprise. A man emerged, his scruffy appearance startling her all the more, thoroughly out of place in this neighborhood.

  “I need ye to come with me,” he demanded as he reached for her, casting a wary glance at the front door.

  “I will do no such thing.” She drew back, clutching the book tightly. Surely he wasn’t interested in it. Or her. How could he possibly know who she was or what she held?

  He smiled, but it was far from pleasant. Nor was the pistol he withdrew from his coat pocket. “I beg to differ, miss. Hand over the book, else I’ll be forced to use this.”